


Fuzz Therapy

by PhenixFleur



Series: Dipper's Guide to Dating a Dream Demon [5]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Bill being pretty awesome for the most part, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Puppies, background mabifica, doesn't mean he doesn't have an ulterior motive though, literal fluff, that breathe fire
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-01
Updated: 2015-05-01
Packaged: 2018-03-26 15:14:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3855322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhenixFleur/pseuds/PhenixFleur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bill brings home a fire-breathing ball of fluff in an attempt to help stave off Dipper's separation anxiety after moving to Gravity Falls for good and Dipper bonds with it instantly; however, a series of incidents clearly targeting Dipper begin to occur, leading him to believe that there's more to Bill's gift than he initially let on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "I got you a present, Pine Tree!"

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on Tumblr. Same continuity as the rest of the stories in the series, all set after Imprinting (Mabel and Pacifica are living in Europe for the moment and Dipper is living with Stan at the Shack and attending school nearby. Stan doesn't know he's dating a dream demon. Yet.) So I actually starting writing Fuzz Therapy before the other fics posted in this series thus far, so let's just assume that Dipper's dog is present in the entries that take place later that summer. (Read: I'm a hack.)

Dipper doesn’t want to admit that he’s lonely.

Or that the separation anxiety just  _might_  be getting to him. Just a little.

The days of his seventh summer in Gravity Falls, soon to be his first fall and winter and spring in Gravity Falls, are waxing into the sticky heat of summer that leave his clothes soaked with perspiration and uncomfortably clinging to his body. He’s finished moving into the Mystery Shack, after two entire weeks of fiddling with Ethernet cables trying to setup a wireless router in an isolated wooden tourist trap in the woods in Oregon and organizing his books and gadgets and actually cleaning up the dark crevices that have gone ignored for years. 

Mabel’s already departed with Pacifica for London, where she’ll be starting classes at the University of Art in a few weeks, Wendy’s taking summer classes and save for a few days earlier that month she hasn’t been around much. Following their wedding the previous summer Melody and Soos are expecting their first Melosoos (a portmanteau coined by the happy couple), so despite the regularity of their visits the two are occupied with preparing for the baby. That leaves Stan, whose endearing saltiness and penchant for criminal activity have yet to and will likely never soften into the placid wisdom of old age as the only other full-time inhabitant of the Shack. Sure, there are the tourists that still come to ooh and ahh at the various attractions that utterly pale in comparison to the dozens of paranormal creatures, artifacts, and occurrences that infest the town and surrounding area, making it a budding cryptographer’s playground, but they’re transient. He may strike up a conversation with some of them, but they always leave, of course. There’s also Stan’s new teenage assistant, a small, wiry girl with mousy brown hair a few years younger than Dipper who seems to harbor some kind of attraction to him (now he knows  _exactly_  how awkward things must have been for Wendy back in the day), but Sam doesn’t  _live_  there.

With the inclusion of himself and Stan that brings the grand sum population of the Mystery Shack to 2.5, the .5 being the alternately amusing, aggravating, and alarming dream demon he’s been spending the past five years bonding with, and whose mark fate has seen fit to leave tattooed on his wrist. Bill doesn’t actually live at the Mystery Shack given that a good bit of his time is spent off doing his own potentially morally grey to actually evil thing, and also because Dipper doesn’t know how to explain to his great uncle that he’s involved with a guy that’s technically a few centuries his senior and also not exactly human. Life is complicated.

So despite the wonderful friends and family he hears from fairly often Dipper is actually rather lonely. He misses Mabel, and as much as he loves Stan and spends as much time as he can with Bill it’s not enough to fill the hole left by his sister and the move to Oregon. Sadly Waddles is also absent, having departed for the big old mud wallow in the sky about a year before his move, so there aren’t any piggy cuddles to dull the ache, either.

With these feelings weighing him down, he’s not prepared for Bill shimmering into existence in front of him one day while his nose is buried in a book and announcing with a dramatic flourish, “ I got you a present, Pine Tree!”

Dipper is used to Bill’s presents by now, so he doesn’t bother looking up from his novel. “Is it another screaming head?”

“Nope!”

“Deer teeth?” Bill isn’t exactly a candy and flowers kind of guy, unless that candy’s been forcibly stolen from a child and the flowers are carnivorous or something.

“Don’t you have enough of those already?”

There is a macabre box of teeth in Dipper’s nightstand drawer that he hopes the police never find when they inevitably descend on the Shack to arrest Stan for tax evasion. “I had enough after the first one.”

Bill sighs. “Geez, you’re bad at this. Catch!”

Dipper barely has time to drop his novel in time to catch the pitch black item Bill lobs in his direction, praying it’s not explosive. The thing that lands in his lap is neither explosive, nor a thing: it’s a small, furry creature radiating warmth and making snuffling noises. “A puppy?”

He gingerly picks up the squirming puppy, only to almost drop it again when he realizes that its eyes a vivid glowing red and when it opens its mouth to yawn it emits a small flicker of orange flame - no more than that of a lighter but that’s not a thing that dogs  _do_. “What the hell?” He looks up at his beaming demon boyfriend, on the verge of panic. “What’s with the eyes and the fire? Why is there fire?”

Bill gives him the obnoxious look he saves for when Dipper’s said something stupid, although that’s not quite fair in this situation. “It’s a hellhound! Wasn’t that obvious?”

“Was it supposed to be?” Granted a fire-breathing puppy is definitely not the weirdest thing he’s ever seen in Gravity Falls but it’s not exactly normal, either.

“Don’t you meatbags like keeping pets?” The derogatory term is an indication that Bill’s less than thrilled with his reaction, but Dipper thinks he has a right to be concerned.

“They don’t usually breathe  _fire_ , Bill,” he points out. “Also how…what?”

“I thought you’d be happy.” Dipper looks up at him; the dream demon actually looks and sounds disappointed. “Shooting Star’s not around anymore, so I thought you could use a little friend.”

It’s actually a very touching gesture, given that he hasn’t explicitly mentioned being lonely in conversation;  if Bill knows anything it’s from careful observation. The puppy in his lap makes a squeaking noise, the half whimper and whine that precedes learning to bark, and Dipper picks it up again, getting a good look at it. The black fur seems to absorb all light, but it’s velvety soft against his skin, and the eyes are unnerving but when he instinctively cradles the puppy against his chest and it snuggles against him, snuffling and sniffing and squirming in his grip it’s love at second sight. He’s never had a dog, nor an actual pet - that’s Mabel’s deal, although he always grew to like whatever she brought home. The puppy -  _his puppy, because no matter what else is said this is his puppy_ , settles happily into his arms and yawns again.

“Come on, look at that widdle face. Can you really say no to that?”

Dipper raises an eyebrow. “Did you just say _widdle_?” Bill either doesn’t notice or doesn’t give a damn about his judgment. Probably the latter.

After about a minute of stroking the area just behind the puppy’s soft, floppy ear, Dipper clears his throat, venturing almost shyly, “…so the fire thing. Can you do something about that?”


	2. "An exotic black lab."

As expected, Mabel’s reaction is an over-the-top, high-pitched squeal of glee that goes on for about twenty seconds longer than it should. “Dipper! He’s so cute!!”

He and his twin are separated by nearly five thousand miles and one ocean, but thanks to the miracle of technology (and the ridiculous amount of effort spent setting up any kind of Internet access in the Mystery Shack whatsoever - Dipper isn’t about to let it go, now or in the foreseeable future) they’re able to video chat rather smoothly and make use of it as often as they can, from Dipper raving about some new discovery to Mabel literally carrying her tablet around the luxurious flat she and Pacifica are now living in, giving him a virtual tour of her new digs. It’s how he’s able to introduce her to the newest member of the family, holding the squirming puppy in front of the webcam. 

“He’s a fire-breathing hellhound that can sense malevolent entities,” he reminds her, because it’s rather disconcerting how his sister’s made no comment whatsoever about the glowing eyes or the orange spark that results from the puppy hiccuping hard enough to shake his entire body. 

_As expected_ , Mabel doesn’t particularly care about the details. “So?”

Dipper shakes his head. “I’m just surprised how quickly you accepted that.”

“Remember the mutant cow?" 

Dipper definitely remembers the mutant cow. "Yeah, I remember the mutant cow. Point taken.”

The puppy settles down into his lap with a sigh of contentment, and Dipper reaches out to stroke the soft fur along his back. “How am I going to explain to Grunkle Stan that I’ve got a hellhound puppy? How am I going to explain to  _anyone_  that I have a hellhound puppy?” He notes that the issue isn’t whether he’s going to keep a hellhound puppy, because that’s a given. 

Mabel waves her hand dismissively. “Just say he’s a black lab.”

The fact that his fur doesn’t actually reflect light is a definite kink in that explanation, alongside the eyes. The eyes are quite literally impossible to ignore, unless you’re Mabel, apparently. “And the eyes?”

Mabel tilts her head to the side, pondering for a moment before responding, confidently, “An  _exotic_  black lab.”

The puppy chooses that moment to roll over, exposing his belly and looking up at Dipper expectantly, and hell, suddenly it doesn’t matter all that much anymore – and he and Mabel further demonstrate their relationship with two matching noises of appreciation, perfectly synced. “Awww.”

“So what are you going to name him?” Mabel smiles, settling down in front of the camera finally instead of being constantly in motion as she usually is. Behind her a door slams, and she disappears for a few seconds during which Dipper hears another excited squeal followed by Mabel greeting Pacifica and giving her the news; after another couple of seconds she returns, dragging her girlfriend along with her. 

Pacifica doesn’t seem to be bothered by the interruption in whatever she was doing; Dipper’s finally gotten used to the placid, content expression reserved for whenever Mabel is anywhere in the near vicinity. It’s as if his twin’s very presence is a panacea to the stress of being a young heiress tugged in any number of directions by her notoriously uptight parents and the media that seemingly stalks her every move and the societal expectations that are not erased by the amount of money in her bank account. 

Dipper holds the puppy up for Pacifica’s benefit, and while she doesn’t  _squeal_  like Mabel her lips quirk up into an appreciative smile. He notices that she doesn’t have anything to say about the eyes either. 

“So what are you going to name him?” Mabel asks. Almost immediately her entire face lights up. “Oh! What about-”

“No boy band names,” Dipper deadpans, halting that notion in its tracks. Mabel faux-pouts, folding her arms over her chest. “Party pooper.”

“I know! Fluffy.” Pacifica announces with a smirk; by now Dipper can tell there’s no actual malice behind it. 

“Trust me, Fluffy isn’t going to cut it,” he says evenly, which is pretty true given that he has no idea how large the puppy will be when it’s no longer a puppy. Or whether it’ll unexpectedly sprout two additional heads. Come to think of it he has a  _lot_  of questions for Bill. 

“Sparky?”

“No.”

“Shadow?”

“ _Emphatic_  no.”

“Hm.” Mabel falls silent for a few, tapping her finger against her cheek. “Let’s ask the Internet!”

Dipper doesn’t know if this is a good idea, already picturing Mabel typing ‘good names for a hellhound’ into a search engine bar, but his misgivings are silenced by his sister piping up, almost immediately. “Hey Dipper, how about Ignatius?”

“Ignatius?” Dipper says uncertainly. It’s a rather big name for such a tiny puppy. Granted, he can see the connection…

“Iggy.” Pacifica suggests with a shrug.

Dipper raises an eyebrow. “Iggy?”

“Iggy…” Mabel parrots, stroking her chin like a rainbow-themed supervillain. 

The puppy raises a paw, gazing  _very_ intently at Dipper, and he presses his index finger against the warm pad. “Iggy.”

Iggy nuzzles his hand, as if in confirmation. “I think he likes it. Iggy.”

Mabel grins widely, lacing her fingers with Pacifica’s and waving at her brother and sorta nephew. “Hi, Iggy! I’m your aunt Mabel!And this is your other aunt…”

Dipper listens to his sister chatter, and although she’s thousands of miles away from him he doesn’t feel so lonely anymore.


	3. "Remember the mutant cow?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stan's seen some stuff. He isn't bothered by too much.

As it turns out, telling Stan about Iggy isn’t nearly the disaster Dipper’s expecting it to be, which is both a relief and just a tad sketchy — but he’s too thrilled at avoiding opposition to dwell on it.

His pre-planned strategy involves waiting until his great uncle is nestled in his now somewhat decrepit chair flipping idly through channels looking for something containing, in his words, ‘actual’ conflict. It makes Dipper consider making him a DVD of street fight footage pulled from YouTube. It’s morally reprehensible for a number of reasons but Stan’s a con man and Dipper’s dating a demon so morality’s clearly taken a backseat in their lives, anyway.

To his credit, Stan immediately notices the glowing red eyes and squints at the puppy in his grand nephew’s arms suspiciously, clearly not impressed by how cute he is. “Yeesh. What is that, some kind of hellhound?”

The statement throws Dipper for a loop, and he flounders for a moment. He can’t possibly know, can he? He definitely doesn’t know about Bill yet, because Dipper still doesn’t know how to approach that conversation. He chuckles nervously, clutching Iggy a little more tightly. “Hahaha,  _no_. It’s a black lab.”

Stan stares at him with a combination of skepticism and disbelief.

“An exotic black lab?”

His Grunkle slowly lifts a hand, pinching the bridge of his nose with a sigh, and Dipper decides enough is enough. “I can explain.”

Ten minutes later after weaving a tale of falling down an incline in the woods, encountering supersized carpenter ants, and kicking a wolf in the face (all of which is completely true, albeit on different occasions not related to Iggy’s origins), Stan sighs again, hands on his knees as he regards his grand nephew critically.

“So let’s get this straight. You found a fire-breathing creature that may or may not be some unholy breed of dog out in the woods and you want to keep it?”

“Yeah.” Iggy lifts his head, licking Dipper’s hand supportively. “It’s sorta quiet around here with everyone gone or busy most of the time, and I actually really miss Waddles.”

Stan looks at him, then Iggy, then back at him again for another minute or two before shrugging and turning back go the TV. “As long as you clean up after it.”

Dipper gapes at him. “That’s it?”

“Remember the mutant cow?”

Dipper  _definitely_  remembers the mutant cow. “Yeah. Yeah, I remember the mutant cow.”

“Besides,” Stan glances over at him, misty-eyed. “I had a dog when I was your age. One of those little dogs with the big ears and the Napoleon complex.”

“A chihuahua?” Dipper asks, incredulous, because the mental image of Grunkle Stan with a tiny designer dog is too ridiculous to fathom.

“My girlfriend back in the day liked ‘em so I borrowed one from some rich lady. Scrambles.” Stan’s expression softens into a soft smile. “Almost tore a man’s leg off when he tried to cheat me at a poker game. Earned him the nickname ‘Death Dealer’. Good old Scrambles the Death Dealer. I loved that dog.”

Dipper looks down at Iggy, who looks back up at him, and he swears they have a  _moment_. “I should really stop worrying over telling you guys about all the weird stuff that happens around here, shouldn’t I?”

Stan opens his mouth to respond - and is immediately distracted by a commercial for Kinda Legal Back Alley Bum Fights 3. “Finally!”

Sometimes Dipper isn’t sure whether Gravity Falls itself is stranger than his own family, demon boyfriend and hellhound puppy included.


	4. Happiness

Just because Iggy is cute (and seems to be a good deal more intelligent than other puppies would be at his age) doesn’t mean that caring for him is a walk in the park, or the woods now that pretty much anything that might even look at him the wrong way keeps its distance due to his demonic significant other lurking nearby. He may breathe fire and, surprisingly, produce what appears to be bits of charcoal instead of ordinary  _poop_ , but he is still a puppy and as such he can be annoying as sin when the mood hits. 

Over the next few weeks Dipper learns about the inextricably linked joy and sorrow of pet ownership. Iggy isn’t housetrained yet, and more than once Dipper wakes up with a pile of flaking black material in his bed or on the floor beside his bed or the wooden slats on the floor scorched beneath a puddle of urine. Teaching a dog to unload the scalding contents of its bowels outside instead of anywhere where Grunkle Stan can see it and threaten to throw both of them outside involves waking up at odd hours of the night and sitting on the porch glumly while Iggy walks around in a circle for five to ten minutes deciding where to relieve himself. It’s usually where he started to begin with.

At some point Dipper asks Bill whether he can just do the  _magic thing_  that he does pretty much constantly to streamline the ordeal, to which the responses are a few jaunty comments about the importance of the journey and not wishing to deprive his beloved Pine Tree of this bonding experience. Dipper is not amused, but his irritated suggestion that Bill go fuck himself has consequences that certainly take his mind off being frustrated and work  _rather well_  in alleviating his built up tension.

Aside from the damage to the floor in the Mystery Shack and the confusion over how to properly dispose of coal-poop, there’s the issue of feeding him. He’s too young to eat dry food without choking on it, and he turns his nose up at the cheap wet food Stan brings home that somehow fell into his cart. It’s a matter of trial, error, and a few instances of a whining hungry puppy and a nerve-wracked Dipper eyeing each other over a bowl of untouched dog chow, but he finally finds a brand they can compromise on. It’s all meat, no filler, and therefore pricier than the other stuff, but his great uncle must be approaching senility because he always manages to  _accidentally_ buy the brand Iggy likes. ‘Buy’ might be a bit of a stretch, but Dipper appreciates the thought nonetheless. 

Occasionally Bill shows up with chunks of something that looks freshly killed, still dripping with blood, and Iggy practically inhales the treat. This is less unnerving than it would have been before watching the demon make a wolf that attacked him in the woods explode into a million wolf bits a few years back. Bill assures him that it’s from some animal or the other, and Dipper’s inclined to believe him. Bill’s creepy a good deal of the time, but not Hannibal Lecter creepy. There’s a distinct difference. 

However, the interrupted sleep and other less than pleasant responsibilities are overshadowed by how fun it is having someone else around on a constant basis. Iggy bonds with him instantly and shadows Dipper, toddling around on tiny legs and lying in a ball of soot-colored fluff beside him whenever he sits down somewhere. His whining very quickly develops into an adorable yap that Mabel loses her head over when Dipper has him demonstrate it for her during one of their video chats. 

Dipper isn’t sure he’s going to make a good hellhound given that he’s incessantly friendly and takes to everyone he encounters rather quickly, almost tripping Soos up while running around his legs and sitting quietly next to Stan staring up at him with his tail thumping against his chair until Stan gives in and slips him a bit of whatever he’s eating, grumbling the entire time. He has an abundance of energy, and  _constantly_ wants to play – it’s a bit like living with Mabel, honestly. 

Once he finally gets the hang of not soiling Dipper’s bed with all the material he needs for a midsummer cookout, it’s  _so nice_ to have a little warm body curled up against his side, snuffling noises in his sleep. He’s slept with Bill in his bed on a number of occasions, in both senses of the word, but it’s a little different given that the demon doesn’t necessarily  _sleep._ He feigns it rather well, eye slipping shut and breathing slowing just enough to imitate actual slumber, but Dipper suspects that the act is entirely for his benefit and Bill’s really off attending to his own pursuits somewhere in the Mindscape. 

Whatever the case, he always awakens in the demon’s embrace with his head resting against his chest, the single visible golden eye watching over him with a warm, affectionate expression that only Dipper has ever been privy to. Both are wonderful experiences, but in different ways, and there are a few days where he wakes up with Bill curled around him in his usual possessive manner and Iggy making sleepy puppy noises on his stomach, and at those moments Dipper can’t imagine how he ever felt lonely or unhappy, nor can he fathom living without either one of them. 


	5. "...he's your son too."

As summer draws to a languid, peaceful close, a potential issue that occurred to Dipper at some point but never fully took root raises its ugly head. It needles him throughout the harrowing process of getting everything settled for his first semester at Gravity Falls Community College (where he’ll spend the next two years until transferring to a larger institution), hacking off his right arm and part of his leg and handing them over for a stack of textbooks, and actually practicing driving the route to school with Bill in the passenger seat and Iggy hanging halfway out of the window panting excitedly and leaving a likely troubling trail of smoke in their wake. 

Bill occasionally mentions learning how to drive (or, in his words, operate a meatbag transportation device) but Dipper ignores him because he really, really likes being alive and he’s sure Bill and jail would be a terrible combination.

A few days before his classes actually start he voices his concern while flipping through his appended journal with Bill lounging by his side and Iggy destroying a supposedly heavy duty chew toy on the floor. “Hey, Bill?”

The demon looks over at him, opening his eye with interest. 

“You’re going to have to babysit.”

Bill stares at him for a moment then closes his eye again. “I don’t know what you heard but it’s not mine.”

Dipper slams his book shut, glaring down at him. “I meant the  _puppy_.”

The world turns upside down in a confusing manner as Bill tackles him, sending them both tumbling onto the floor (and almost on top of Iggy, who yelps and dashes out of the way) with the demon breaking his fall as usual. 

“I’m kidding!” Bill cries, laughing uproariously while halting Dipper’s attempts to scoot out of his lap by wrapping his arms around his waist. “If I’m going to knock anyone up it’ll be you.”

Dipper pauses, opens his mouth, then shuts it again. He’s used to Bill’s bullshit by now. “Yeah. Anyway. Will you let me…damn it!” After a  couple of seconds of struggling against the demon’s grip he gives up and settles into the embrace with a sigh of resignation. “Whatever. Seriously, though. I can’t keep an eye on him when class starts up next week, and he keeps scorching the furniture because he’s teething.”

“Eh, just take him with you,” Bill says dismissively. 

“They don’t allow animals on campus.” A few feet away the puppy sneezes, emitting a tiny column of orange flame. “I’m going to assume that includes hellhounds.”

Bill ignores him, rolling over so he’s on top and grinning down at his adorably frustrated human. Dipper sighs. “ _Technically_  he’s your son too.”

“Can’t prove that!” Some of Dipper’s irritation melts away as the demon leans forward to brush his lips against his forehead, planting a kiss on his birthmark. “It’s fine, Pine Tree. I can teach him how to rend souls!”

“He can rend souls?” Dipper glances over at the small lump of fur gnawing at the rapidly blackening leg of a chair. “What does that even  _mean_?”

“Don’t worry, he’s limited to malevolent beings." 

Dipper makes the likely wise decision to not question any further. "Just don’t get arrested. Or burn anything down. Don’t let him burn anything down either.” The rest of his frustration fades in response to another surprisingly gentle kiss. He’s a sucker for these moments of passionate tranquility that arise only when they’re alone and the monster withdraws, leaving him in the arms of the man he loves.

And because Bill is Bill, he completely ruins the moment by sitting up and asking, way too enthusiastically, “So is that a yes on the kids?”

Dipper groans. “No agency is going to let us adopt children, Bill.”

The demon’s smile twists into his characteristic leer. “Who said anything about adoption?”

“…nope.”


End file.
